The procession began at the orphanage after Sunday services and wound its way through town and into the heather fields. Townspeople joined Father Josef’s children until the narrow, sandy path was crowded with worshipers. Big white cranes wading in the reed flats stood very still as the crowd passed, then went back to picking off fish. The people sang the Nebelsee song of Advent, “Macht hoch die Tür”:
Lift up your heads, ye mighty gates,
Behold, the King of glory waits,
The King of kings is drawing near,
The Savior of the world is here.
As the procession approached the lighthouse, Krebs was surprised to see an army truck parked beside the remains of the keeper’s house. A tent flapped nearby. Camouflage netting was on the high ground, just to the side of the thorn-bushes. The soldiers were diligently working on the equipment beneath the netting. A soldier came out of the lighthouse, trailing a wire. Krebs looked up at the parapet and saw that the wire was attached to an antenna clamped to the railing.
Father Josef turned to the assembly and they gathered around him. “It is our tradition to come here each December to recall the days before our Lord came to earth,” he said. “Even our fishermen stay in to celebrate. Perhaps,” he went on to the approving chuckle of the fishermen and fishermen’s wives, “it is because the sea is so cold and fishing is so difficult this time of year, eh? But we gather as a family.” Father Josef deliberately sought out Krebs. “There is nothing more important than family.”
Father Josef was a great speaker, his voice deep and compelling. Even the soldiers stopped their work and gathered around. Then, when he was finished, he blessed the assembly and the people sang a last hymn and began to disperse to their homes. The children waited patiently to be shepherded back to the orphanage. Krebs saw Father Josef talking to the lieutenant in charge of the soldiers. He caught the gist of their conversation as he approached. “I have my orders, Father,” the lieutenant said.
“But your presence is too dangerous for Nebelsee,” Father Josef replied. “Please pass along to your superiors my suggestion to put your station elsewhere.”
The lieutenant shrugged. “It would be like talking to that lighthouse.” He noticed Krebs and came to attention. “Good afternoon, Kapitän.”
“I’m on leave, Lieutenant, so relax,” Krebs said. “What is all this about, anyway? A weather station, I presume?”
The lieutenant nodded. “Indeed, sir. My headquarters wants precise measurements from this site. Wind velocity, temperature changes, and barometric pressures at different altitudes. Those are devices to send up balloons you see just there. Now, I’m sorry but I must get back to work.”
Krebs took Father Josef aside. “Miriam and I wish to be married the next time I have leave,” he told him.
Father Josef was delighted, though he gave no indication of surprise. “Fine news, Otto,” he said. “She is a wonderful woman.”
Krebs chuckled. “You knew already, didn’t you? There are no secrets from you, are there?”
“Not when it comes to my children,” Father Josef replied.
Krebs was distracted by the low grumble of an aircraft engine. He checked his watch. It was about the right time for the Teufel plane to pass over the island. Still there was something not quite right about the sound of the engine. “Excuse me, Father,” he said and studied the approaching aircraft. It was a Ju-88, all right. He could make out its two engines, the flat line of its wing, the vertical line of its stabilizer. But it was coming in very low and very fast. Then he knew it wasn’t a Dreifinger at all but a plane very similar. “It’s a Mosquito,” he said, nearly to himself. Then he shouted to the lieutenant, “Get your men away! That’s an English aircraft!”
The lieutenant stared, then ordered his men to take cover. Krebs started to look for Miriam and saw her standing beside the lighthouse. “Miriam!” he roared. “Come here!”
The townspeople were running and the troops were joining them, scattering this way and that. Miriam was trying to gather the children. Krebs started after her but his knee suddenly buckled. He screamed at her. “Run away from the lighthouse!”
The airplane flung itself overhead, machine guns stuttering from its wings. It had passed so low that Krebs could make out the rivets on its fuselage. Then he saw people had been shot, their blood spattered across the heather. The Mosquito pulled up and then continued on its course across the island.
Krebs heard another aircraft. Miriam had sent the children running away. She was looking around, apparently to see if there were any more children near the lighthouse. Krebs saw the blur of the bomb falling from the second Mosquito, and then the lighthouse disappeared in a cloud of dust and debris.
When the debris stopped raining down on him, Krebs raised his head. All around him were groaning, wounded, and weeping people. Krebs crawled to the devastated lighthouse. Others came and picked him up, insisting that they were going to take him to a doctor. “No, no, I am all right. Help Miriam Hauptmann. She is beneath this rubble.”
Willing hands started tearing into the brick and mortar. Miriam was easily found. She had an arm and a leg ripped off by the blast but was still breathing, her mouth open in shock. Her glazed eyes seemed for just one moment to come back to life, then blurred over. Krebs crawled through her blood and kissed her lips. They were already cold and tasted of brick and dust.